


Not Thinking Of You

by woakiees



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22161448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woakiees/pseuds/woakiees
Summary: "Poe glanced at the writing on his hand, furrowing his eyebrows and letting it distract him from the wild dream he had had the night before. He read over the single word for what must have been the hundredth time that morning, still as confused as he had been the first time."
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 134





	Not Thinking Of You

The alarm clock shattered as it hit the concrete floor, screws and bolts flying around the room as the annoying ringing finally ceased. Your head was pounding, stomach flipping with each nauseous wave that flew through your body. All of the lights in your quarters were shut off, but you knew that the second you opened your eyes your migraine would only worsen. It was the sixth day that month you had woken up to the feeling of imaginary nails impaling themselves into your brain, and you couldn’t help but groan as annoyance flowed through your veins, wincing just slightly as the sound only made your head throb further. A sixth day of unproductivity, where you wouldn’t be able to get out of bed and get anything done. A sixth day of pain. A sixth day of being useless to your fellow Resistance members.

You thought that you better let them know sooner rather than later.

But you didn’t want to move, not yet. You had been dreaming before being rudely awoken by your alarm, and you thought that, maybe, if you tried hard enough, you would be able to recall the images that had been running through your unconscious mind. You remembered the feeling of grass on your skin, a blue sky and clouds above. You had been on your back, the steady pressure of another’s body weighing down on top of you. The connection you had felt — the indescribable tug and pull in the pit of your stomach, the spark. It had felt so real, so intense. The feeling of soft lips upon your own, moving hastily yet still in sync. Hands on your hips, fingertips bruising your skin as you could feel the desperation pouring through their touch. Your fingers tangled between locks of raven hair, pulling softly, just enough so that you could look up and stare into a pair of dark, familiar eyes-

You sat up quickly, ignoring the pulsing in your head that came with your aggressive movement as you let your back slump against the headboard. It was just a dream, nothing but a dream. A ridiculous prank your brain had decided to play, because surely you wouldn’t have _willingly_ dreamt of kissing _him_. Dreams didn’t mean a damn thing, and _that_ dream specifically meant _nothing_.

“God I fucking hate him,” you found yourself gently sighing, trying your hardest to ignore the insistent tingling of your lips and the phantom pressure still present on your hips, on your chest, _everywhere_.

Without opening your eyes, you quietly called for the small droid in the corner, hoping your voice was loud enough to wake him. BB-8 let out a few, short beeps, but quickly stopped once he processed the pain in your voice. He knew what that meant. It was the whole reason he had started spending the night in your quarter’s, afterall — a direct order from his master to keep an eye on you, though the man in question would never admit it, and often tried to pretend that he hadn’t asked that of his droid. You had voiced your objection to the idea several times, but finally realized that it was useless when BB-8 would just show back up at your door night after night, no matter how many times you asked him to return to his own quarters.

The droid silently rolled over to you, and you gently whispered for him to let General Organa know of your less than ideal situation. He responded only with a nod of his head, remembering to stay as quiet as possible, before making his way over to the door and going to do as you asked.

Once he was gone, you hastily pushed the covers back from your body, all memories of the dream vanishing from your mind. Opening your eyes and letting them adjust to the light, or rather, lack thereof, your gaze immediately flew to your leg, searching for the familiar coin sized, nearly perfect circle on the inside of your left ankle. You watched just as the small doodle appeared, a lazy smile finding its way onto your lips. They apparently had just woken up as well. Your soulmate.

They had been drawing the circle onto their ankle for years now; the same tiny drawing every single day to serve as a constant reminder that they were still out there, somewhere. A reminder that they hadn’t lost hope in finding you one day, they just weren’t ready to. Somehow, from the first time you noticed it, you had known that that was what the little circle meant. They weren’t ready.

Not that you minded, you weren’t exactly ready to find them either. The Resistance was your life — your main focus. You were dedicated to fighting the war against the First Order, and for the time being, that was okay. It was perfectly fine. Your soulmate was still drawing the circle, so it was clear to you that they weren’t ready either.

You weren’t worried. You would find each other eventually. And if it got to a point where you couldn’t wait any longer, it would be easy enough to find each other once you were ready to. All you had to do was write your questions on your arm, and it would appear on theirs. That seemed to be how most pairs found each other, afterall. You often rolled your eyes at that, even though the thought had crossed your own mind. Where was the magic in that? What was the point in _finding_ your soulmate if you were just going to make written plans to meet somewhere, at a set time? Where was the romance?

You shook your thoughts from your head. You didn’t have time to think about that. Reaching to your right, you blindly searched for the familiar black marker you kept on your bedside table. Once it was in your hand, you uncapped it, reaching down to draw a matching circle on your right ankle — a reminder for them as well.

You threw the marker to the side after making your own mark, letting yourself fall back to the mattress. You briefly found yourself wondering what your commander would have to say about your absence the next time you saw him. You rolled your eyes, the thought of Poe alone enough to cause goosebumps to rise on your skin. You guessed that’s what people always meant when they said someone or something made their skin crawl.

You huffed in annoyance, but quickly closed your eyes, letting sleep overtake you once more.

* * *

Poe glanced at the writing on his hand, furrowing his eyebrows and letting it distract him from the wild dream he had had the night before. He read over the single word for what must have been the hundredth time that morning, still as confused as he had been the first time.

“ _Idiots_.”

It was in Leia’s handwriting. She had grabbed his wrist and scribbled the word into the back of his hand before he even had time to ask her what she was doing. She had offered no explanation behind her choice of word, or any insight as to why it was plural. He had no idea what had even prompted her to write it. All he had been doing was sitting next to her, complaining about his fellow pilot’s recklessness and the fact that she had been stealing his droid from him each and every night for the last month. Nothing out of the ordinary for him.

He shook his head, his mind instantly drifting to whether or not _they_ had noticed yet. Would the word appear on his soulmate’s hand? Did it even work like that? If he didn’t write it himself, would it still show up? He wondered, if they saw it, what they thought of it. It had been the first word that had ever been written on his skin.

“Well that’s a great first impression,” he mumbled under his breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he debated on whether or not he should wash the ink from his hand.

A series of beeps interrupted Poe from his thoughts, and he turned, glancing behind himself only to find BB-8 rolling towards him.

“Buddy!” he called out, instantly kneeling to give the droid a quick belly rub. The action earned him a series of noises that almost resembled purrs, causing the pilot to smile brightly. “Where have you been all morning?”

Another string of beeps, though this time, they brought a frown to Poe’s to face. “Y/L/N is out with a migraine again and you snuck her some pain medicine from the medbay?”

The droid nodded excitedly, wanting to get the medicine to you as quickly as possible, hoping it would make you feel better. He had grown quite attached to you in the last month, even more than he had been before.

Poe rolled his eyes, annoyance another emotion he would never admit to feeling flooding through his body. You had been getting so many migraines, he couldn’t keep up with it anymore. And he hated to admit it, but he needed you. You were their best pilot, other than himself, of course. Things had been rather peaceful at the base for the last couple of days, but he knew that could change at any moment. He — _they_ needed you.

He needed to personally make sure you took the pain medicine.

Turning on his heel, he stalked towards your quarters, BB-8 rolling easily beside him. Poe knew it wasn’t your fault for getting migraines as often as you had been, but he found himself becoming more and more irritated with each one. And often, with the irritation and annoyance, came a strong bout of worry that he attributed to being down one squad member. It wasn’t like he actually _cared_. You aggravated him to no end, and he knew that he did the same to you, maybe even more. The thought caused him to smirk, for a reason that he didn’t quite understand.

He reached your quarters in just a few short minutes and found himself hesitating, glancing down at his droid who beeped questioningly at him.

“What? I’m not _nervous_. I’ve been in her quarters before, and besides, it’s Y/L/N.”

BB-8 met his master’s answer with another snarky comment that Poe chose to ignore and, without really thinking about it, he moved to _bang_ his fist against the metal door.

He cursed at himself, having forgotten that the entire reason he was there was because you had a migraine he was working to get rid of, not make worse. BB-8 had a few choice beeps for him as well, and apparently, so did you, as all he could hear from the other side of the door was a series of swears.

Poe sighed, letting himself in without another thought.

You were laying in your bed, your pillow thrown over your eyes. The sound of the door sliding open made you groan, and you quickly sat up, letting the pillow fall away from you. Your groan only intensified upon realizing who stood in the entryway. You should have realized. Only he would pound on your door while your head was trying to kill you.

“Special delivery, princess.”

You frowned, crossing your arms over your chest as Poe flipped on, thankfully, a dim light, giving the room a soft, yellow glow that wasn’t too harsh for your eyes in the moment.

“Special delivery my ass, Poe Dameron. Now what the fuck are you doing?”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“I bet you’d love to know what I do with this mouth.”

Poe rolled his eyes, walking the short distance from the door before sitting down on the edge of your bed.

“Bb-8 brought you some medicine for the migraine.”

The droid beeped quietly, confirming Poe’s words as he slowly started to roll over to you. You smiled down at the small robot, scratching his head as a way of showing him thanks.

“How thoughtful of him, but that still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“He’s _my_ droid.”

“Doesn’t mean you had to tag along. He obviously knows how to get here himself.”

“What, do you want me to admit that I was checking on you or something, princess? Holy fuck, you’re so irritating.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, ignoring the feeling it brought to the pit of your stomach. “As if you’re any less maddening, flyboy.”

Poe glared at you, but didn’t say anything else. His behavior encouraged you to do the same, only you couldn’t help the involuntary quirk of an eyebrow that followed, a gesture that Poe found almost challenging. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, and your gaze reluctantly flickered between his eyes and his mouth. You silently cursed yourself, hoping he hadn’t noticed, but judging by the smirk on his face, he definitely had seen.

“You want to kiss me right now, don’t you?”

You inhaled sharply, causing yourself to cough and splutter as your lungs filled with too much air too quickly. Poe’s smirk only deepened, a gentle chuckle falling from his lips as he watched you in amusement.

It took you a moment, but you soon regained your composure. Your eyes were still wide, and Poe only laughed again, though this time with enough force to shake your bed.

“Why would you ever think that I want to kiss _you_?”

Poe shrugged his shoulders, a goofy and adorably irritating grin on his face. You huffed, but otherwise stayed silent, not trusting your voice just then. Rolling your eyes, you brought your hand up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, just needing to move or fidget. Poe saw it as an opportunity to tease your further, as for once, you weren’t fighting back, and _Maker_ would he take every chance to mess with you.

“Admit it, you wanted to kiss-”

He abruptly stopped, words suddenly caught in his throat as he lost all ability to speak. All of his previous thoughts quickly vacated his mind as his eyes followed your hand while it moved through the darkness, and he found himself holding his breath, a sense of anticipation settling in his stomach. Your hand finally settled on your thigh, and as he finally got a better look, all he could do was stare at it, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed, the confusion evident enough on his face that you found yourself raising an eyebrow for a second time.

“What are you staring at?”

His eyes quickly fluttered between your hand and your face several times, his mind racing as he tried to remember how to speak properly.

“Did you-” he started to ask, though he had to pause for a moment to swallow the anxious lump that had formed in his throat, shaking his head as if to clear his mind. “Did you see Leia this morning?”

“What?” you responded, your own eyebrows furrowing to match his.

“Did you see Leia-”

“No, I haven’t left my room all morning.”

Poe remained silent, though he now kept his eyes trained on yours. His gaze was intense, and he looked slightly troubled — as if he were thoroughly and silently debating whether or not to tell you something. But, soon enough, panic began to flood his veins, and he let it get the better of him.

“Nothing, I just,” he stuttered, furiously shaking his head as he stood from your bed. “I don’t — you just — ”

“Poe, what the fuck is going on?” you quickly interrupted, exasperation evident in your voice.

He didn’t know how to answer your question. Didn’t want to answer your question, because he knew what he saw and he knew what it meant, but he didn’t know how to even begin to process it. He only continued to shake his head before turning on his heel, quickly walking towards your door while lamely mumbling something about taking your pain medicine.

“ _Poe_!” you called out, hoping the tone of your voice would be enough to get him to stay, but it was useless.

He continued to walk away, leaving you more confused and bewildered than you had ever been.

You sat there for a moment, a million questions running through your head. You heard a small beep come from the floor, and glanced down to find BB-8 just as lost, his head swiveling between you and the door.

“What the fuck?” you gently asked him.

He didn’t respond, not knowing what to say or do, and instead of trying to offer up an explanation for his master’s strange behavior, he decided to offer you something else: the medicine that had been Poe’s whole reason for barging into your room.

You had completely forgotten about your migraine, but the moment you remembered, it came back full force. You groaned, gently massaging your temples as the ache settled in again. Without hesitating for another moment, you reached for the small vile BB-8 balanced on one of his tools, but stopped before you could close your fist around it.

“What the-” you started, your eyes settling on a single word, written on the back of your hand in clear, black ink.

“ _Idiots_.”

You frowned, bringing your other hand up to try and wipe it away to no avail.

Why would your soulmate write that on the back of their hand? The first word your soulmate had ever written, and it was “ _idiots_ ”? What did that even mean?

And why had Poe been so alarmed to see it?

You let yourself fall back onto the mattress for the second time that morning, never letting your eyes wander from the back of your hand. You could only stare at it and stare at it and stare at it, until it slowly started to disappear from your skin, washing itself away.

But you were already asleep, the pain medicine having kicked in fairly quickly.

BB-8 moved to his spot in the corner of your room, dedicated to following his master’s orders to watch over you as you slept.

And Poe was in the bathroom, furiously scrubbing at the back of his hand under boiling water, until his skin was red and raw and all traces of Leia’s writing was gone.


End file.
